Welcome to Perfection

Population - 10/11

The small town of Perfection, Nevada isn't in any way a town at all. The only place in Perfection Valley populated by more than two people is affectionately known by its residents as the smallest town in the West, but it is, in fact, a store, two trailers, a sheep station and two houses. Two of the population lived up on the hill above the town so they shouldn't really count at all. This was a hotly debated topic at the local council meeting once a month, much to the dismay of six out of the eight official councillors and the two guest councillors. (All guests are invited – there's not a lot to do in the town okay?) The argument included whether or not non humans should be included as residents. As of today's date a consensus has still not yet been reached.
The focal point and hub of the tiny community was Lopez General Stores. Smack dab on the main road. The only road. Apart from the track leading to the rubbish dump. What came first, the store or the town? Nobody knows. What we do know is the store is the source of everything in the town; groceries, hardware, clothing, top shelf restricted items and to the right person for the right price certain chemicals in illegal proportions. But you don't need to know that.

Santana Lopez; proprietor, head chef, barkeep, manager, postal service official, cleaner, shelf stacker, till jockey, accountant and local businesswoman, looked up at the jingling sound of the bell over the door. To her surprise a man in a black suit (highly inappropriate for desert climes) and black lensed sunglasses (slightly more appropriate for desert climes) looked around sharply then marched over to the counter. Behind him an uncommonly shiny black SUV (uncommon for these parts, who has a black car in the desert? And bothers to keep it shiny?) was visible through the screen door and another man stood next to it looking around the town with a scowl. They had matching buzzcuts and stood with their legs far enough apart that it appeared as though they were very likely concealing weapons in uncomfortable places.

"Good morning, sir. Welcome to Perfection. Not every day we have a visitor I don't know. You need gas?"

"No," the man replied abruptly.

"I see." Santana raised an eyebrow, a warning sign to anyone acquainted with her. "You must be here for our Lopez legendary breakfast then. Finest breakfast this side of the Rockies."

"Have you seen this woman?" The suit pulled a print out of a mugshot from inside his jacket, his shoulder holster visible for a moment, and slid it over the counter to face Santana. A young blonde-haired blue-eyed woman smirked up at her wearing an MIT hoodie and casually wielding a placard with her date of arrest and arrest number. She was officially five foot eight inches tall.

Santana let out a slow whistle as she picked up the paper and inspected it with interest. Suddenly aware of the scrutiny she was under she dropped the photo back on the counter and smiled.

"Hot damn. Does my future wife have a name?" She asked with an appreciative grin.

"Brittany Susan Pierce."

"And you are?..." Santana asked. "Her stalker?"

"That's classified. Do you know her?"

Santana's face scrunched up and she tapped her finger to her temple appearing deep in thought. "Hmmm, I guess you'll find that's classified as well."

"Listen, I just need to know if you have seen this woman." He made a move as though to snatch the paper up again but Santana slid it out of his reach with a glare.

"You know what, Sargent Squinty McCreeper? As if it wasn't bad enough that it's six thirty in the morning and I have done my best to be civil at this ungodly hour, the breakfast rush is due here any minute and I haven't even slaughtered the entire pig it will take to feed them."
The morning rush consisted of Noah Puckerman and Finn Hudson who ate enough for seven people between them.
"And you have the nerve to come in to my store wearing your sunglasses indoors, which by the way I'm not sure you're aware that indicates some deep seated insecurities, and shove an extremely distracting picture of Prisoner Cell Block Goddess in my face without so much as a please and then," she paused for a breath. The man took a small step backward. "You don't even buy anything…"

The man huffed, rather unprofessionally, Santana thought.

"Fine. I'll take a granola bar," he slammed a bar down on the counter off the full box next to the cash register.

"I feel morally obligated to inform you that this is vegan granola bar and I have been not very reliably assured that it tastes like sand and sawdust stuck together with earwax." The man was visibly repulsed even behind the barrier of his sunglasses. Santana continued, "I don't know how true that is because if it had earwax in then surely it couldn't be considered vegan. You want one for your buddy?"

He picked up another bar and placed it next to the first.

"Have you seen this woman?"

"…"

He reached in his pocket and pulled out a crumpled couple of notes. "Please."

"Sure I have." Santana admitted. The suit perked up. "Every night in my dreams."

The man's face twitched but before he could respond Santana continued.

"Listen, Fed-Face. Serious talk now. I have lived here for ten years and I know everyone around these parts. They all come through my store. I'm the only source of sour patch kids for a hundred and fifty miles. If she was in the area, I'd know. And I promise you, I'd remember a face like that. What do you want her for anyway?"

"That's not your concern."

"Sure it is. She might show up here as you seem to think she's in the area. Can't be too careful these days. Bandits, outlaws, show-tune singers, marauders… anyone could just rock up. Is she dangerous?" Santana asked as she reached below the counter and pulled out her favourite shotgun. She placed it on the counter and ran a hand along it lovingly. Behind his sunglasses the man visibly paled.

"She's not dangerous to our knowledge. We were hoping she would help us with our enquiries and uhh…" he coughed. "I hope you have a licence for that."

"Sure do. Not that that's your concern, Mr Nobody. And what are those enquiries exactly? Who do you work for? CIA? NSA? Scientologists?"

Ignoring the query, the man reached in his pocket and pulled out a business card.

"If you see her or hear about her in the area I'd appreciate it if you contacted me." The card was blank apart from a phone number in small print on the back.

"You still haven't told me who you are or given me any reason to help you."

"It's a matter of national security," and with that he spun on his heel and walked away.

"Hey!" Santana called after him. "If you do find her, give her my number. And leave the picture."

The suit threw the photograph back onto the counter and marched out of the store.

"You forgot your granola bars!" Santana shouted after him. "Jackass," she muttered as the car sped off the scattering of gravel could be heard hitting the deck outside. She pulled the picture toward her and smirked.

"Why, Ms Pierce, you naughty girl. You are full of surprises."

An hour later and the breakfast rush was drawing to a close. The regulars, Finn and Puck, had been and inhaled their meal and gone and only the blonde woman sitting across from her was taking her sweet time finishing off her plate. Santana watched her with interest while drying up some dishes.

"There were a couple of men in suits looking for you earlier."

"A couple? In suits?" Brittany looked surprised. "Were they getting married?"

"No, Britt. I mean there were two of them and they were all official looking. They might have been a couple though," Santana pondered. "I didn't exactly ask."

"What did you tell them?"

"That I've never heard of a Brittany Susan Pierce and was he going to buy something or just clutter up my store." Brittany gave a lopsided smirk. "Why was there a man in a suit wearing sunglasses indoors looking for you?"

Brittany shrugged then watched curiously as Santana placed Brittany's mugshot in front of the culprit in question. Brittany failed to hide her smirk.

"Is this a picture of your girlfriend?"

Santana snorted at the unexpected question and turned to pin the picture on the wall with the local notices and adverts and also to give her flushed cheeks a moment to cool.

"You wish."

"I do," Brittany admitted sincerely, then ruined the moment by waggling her eyebrows. "Because I think you two would look good together. Hottest couple in Perfection. In the state. In the country!
Why do you have my mugshot?" Brittany asked curiously. "If you wanted a pic you only had to ask."

Santana rolled her eyes and continued to clear away the crockery. "Why do you have a mugshot? And why are you wearing an MIT hoodie?"

"Have dinner with me and I'll tell you."

"Tell me and I'll think about having dinner with you."

"Okay," Brittany grinned. "I got arrested when I was at college and it was cold. It was the hoodie or the rainbow poncho my dad knitted but the hoodie had pockets so that won out."

"Britt…"

"That's what you asked."

"That's not what I meant. What were you arrested for? And how come you never mentioned you went to MIT."

"Would you be dating me already if you knew I went to MIT?"

"Britt, that's got nothing to do with me going on a date with you and you know it!" Santana threw the cloth down on the counter and glared at Brittany.

"I know," Brittany muttered, "I'm sorry." She stared back with puppy dog eyes until she broke down Santana's glare. With a huff Santana picked up the cloth and began to wipe down the surface in front of Brittany.

"Are you a retired spy? A bank robber?"

Brittany chuckled. "There's only one thing I'm looking to steal," she smiled, leaning over the counter invading Santana's personal space.

"Ugh, not again."

Santana and Brittany turned their heads simultaneously to watch Quinn walk back out the door.

Santana turned back to Brittany who was staring intently at her again her chin propped up resting on her hand.

"So…?"

"So?" Brittany parroted. Santana reached over and pushed Brittany's arm dropping her chin off her hand. Brittany stood up and grinned as Santana asked.

"So, focus. What did the guy want?"

"I don't know, you sent him away."

"Are you in trouble?"

Brittany was still staring. "Definitely."

"Oh my god!" Santana threw her hands up and walked away from the counter. Brittany followed her.

"San, that pic is from when I was in college. I didn't do anything bad, I promise," she said earnestly. "I was arrested for protesting against animal testing."

"Then why were there creepy dudes looking for you?"

"I don't know, I swear."

"I was worried."

"I know." Brittany stepped closer to her grasping her elbows of her folded arms. "Thank you for having my back."

The door opened and Quinn stuck her head around the screen.

"Is it safe to come in yet?" she eyed their close proximity with distrust.

Brittany took a step back and opened her mouth to speak but the sound of half a dozen food cans tumbling to the floor across the store distracted the three women.

"What was that?" Santana asked as Brittany went over to check the shelves. "Did that cat just come in?"

"I left him sleeping in the cab," Brittany assured her, picking up the cans and eyeing the shelf thoughtfully. "The shelf looks pretty solid to me," Brittany murmured, testing it with a tug and nodding when it remained solid.

"Brittany, he is banned for life from my store, you know this."

"He was fast asleep and he has promised me never to desecrate your store ever again in this lifetime or the next."

"I haven't been able to get the smell of all the sardines he ripped open with his bare teeth out of the wood. I'll have to change the floorboards."

"I can do that for you," Brittany offered. "At no charge of course."

"You would?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Don't you ma'am me."

"Yes ma'am. So it's supposed to be clear tonight and I'm going to be taking the 200 mil out…

"Britt…" Santana admonished softly.

Brittany cleared her throat noticing Quinn rolling her eyes at them. She pocketed her phone and keys. "Anyway, I gotta get to work. Can't be late, the boss lady gets mad."

"No she doesn't," Santana looked bemused.

"Not at me," Brittany explained. "She gets mad at everyone else. She likes me. A lot, I think."

Santana gave an epic eye roll. "Well as I am the boss lady, sadly for you it's garbage day." Brittany groaned. "But before that joyful task, which I can still get Puck to do-"

"No. I'm doing it." Brittany insisted quickly.

"Or Finn…" Santana offered.

Brittany folded her arms and began to look cross which only looked adorable in Santana's opinion.

"Fine, fine. First, there's a package arrived for Sue." Santana pointed to the box in question. "Can you deliver it up to the ranch?"

"Sure can, boss." Brittany walked over to the large cardboard box up against the wall and inspected it.

"Ahem." Quinn cleared her throat. "What am I, chopped liver?"

Santana finally granted her attention to her latest customer. "Morning, Fabray. Usual?"

"Extra bacon."

"Of course."

Quinn took a seat while Santana fired up the frying pan. The oil quickly worked up to a sizzle as the bacon hit the hot oil.

"You're a little late this morning," Santana said over her shoulder. "Been catching up on your beauty sleep?"

"Didn't want to disturb anything going on in here."

"Sadly, there was nothing going on in here. Not yet anyway," said Brittany.

"Except inappropriate flirting in the workplace," said Santana, her cheeks pinking as Brittany responded with a bright smile and a wink.

Brittany let out a small 'oof' as she hoisted the package up onto her shoulder. Santana watched appreciatively at her flexing muscles and then dealt Quinn a death glare as she prodded her and indicated the smoking frying pan.

"It's not a gun this time," Quinn mused, as Brittany passed her.

"I think it's that drone she's been expecting."

"What does she need a drone for?" Quinn asked, bewildered. "We live in the middle of the desert. There's nothing to look at."

"Well that's not true." Brittany winked at Santana. "Catch you later, Quinn. Santana."

"Drive safe, Britt."

"Drive safe, Britt," Quinn parroted quietly and getting a face full of dishcloth for her efforts. "You two are disgusting. You should put a health warning on the front of the store."

"Shut up and eat your entire recommended daily cholesterol intake in one meal. And you have the nerve to call yourself a doctor."

Quinn grinned and picked up her knife and fork eagerly awaiting the culinary masterpiece heading her way.